


Quarantine Drabbles

by fckyeahgallavich



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Drabbles, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pillow Talk, Smut, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: How are Ian and Mickey spending their time in self-quarantine? Let's see...
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 82
Kudos: 261





	1. Day 0

At first neither Ian nor Mickey paid much attention to the news. They never really had before and they’d been alright, so why start now? But the more they heard about it… CoronaVirus — which just made Mickey crave Corona beer more and more each time he heard the name of the damned thing — the more they started to realize… this shit could get serious. When Ian heard about the first case in Chicago he asked a co-worker what that meant for their business. At first it meant that they were busier than ever, working over time to pick up people who swore they had symptoms of the virus, but then funding shifted from them to the hospital staff who were working over time and to the clinics providing testing. So, basically Ian was laid-off.

Mickey, still working security for retail stores, was laid-off much sooner. Larry insisted that they both sign up for unemployment — which they immediately did. It wasn’t much but it at least allowed them to pitch in for groceries (or rather, buy their own quarantine snacks and their own stash of toilet paper and cleaning products).

On Day 0 of quarantine Ian and Mickey stocked up on the essentials — Corona, tequila, TP (since the vultures of Chicago insisted on hogging all of it for themselves), and lots and lots of snack food. It was the most domestic picture of them that anyone could imagine—

Ian pushed a grocery cart while Mickey grabbed whatever they decided they needed or wanted from the shelves and tucked the products away in the wired basket. 

“Three cases, Mick? You really got  _ money _ to go buyin that much?” Ian exclaimed as Mickey reached for a third 24 pack of Corona.

“I’m surprised it’s even still here with all the smartasses around here who’d love to make a joke — ‘hey, look! I’ve got Corona! Hehehe,’” Mickey rolled his eyes at the thought and tucked the third case underneath the basket.

“You just complained about other people sayin it so  _ you  _ could say it,” Ian pointed out. Mickey glowered at being thoroughly called out and Ian grinned (smirked is more like it, but Ian was trying to play innocent.)

“And what of it?” Mickey shot back, grabbing the tequila from the opposite shelf and sticking it in the little basket in front of Ian.

“Jesus, Mick, if you’re gettin liquor too you should at least get the cheap shit,” Ian complained, reaching for the Jose Cuervo.

“Might as well get the Montezuma,” Mickey snarked irritably. Ian smirked as he put the Patron back.

“I said cheap not hangover-juice,” Ian shot back. Mickey rolled his eyes and wiped at his mouth absently, working to hide the smile trying to spread from the smirk already on his face. Ian loved when they bantered, though he could tell from the people around them that they sounded aggressive. But that was the thing about  _ them  _ that people never understood… Aggression is subjective and another person’s heated discussion was their flirting… Always had been since they were kids. And Ian wouldn’t have it any other way. Right this second he wanted nothing more than to reach out and smack Mickey’s ass just to complete their flirtatious ritual.

Mickey, however, beat Ian to the punch and not only smacked Ian’s ass but tucked his right hand in Ian’s back pocket. Ian grinned and continued to the back of the store where they picked up lots of eggs (Mickey’s comfort food) and turned to proceed down the aisles to peruse for random snack type food.

Cart full of Doritos, Pop-Tarts, and various frozen foods, the couple headed to the front of the store to pay — until Mickey separated to go pick up an “essential.”

By the time he returned to the self-checkout Ian was nearly ready to start paying, but Mickey caught him in time to swipe the two small bottles across the scanner and drop them into the plastic bag in one smooth move.

“The fuck did you get?” Ian wondered, starting to reach into the bag until Mickey smacked his hands away and ordered him to “pay the machine.” Ian furrowed his brows at his husband but rolled his eyes and fed his and Mickey’s cash into the machine.

“What’d you get?” Ian repeated on their way to the El.

“You’ll find out when we get home, now won’t you?”

Ian sighed.

“We’re gonna get our fill of home, won’t we?” Ian murmured allowed. Mickey nodded.

“The way I see it, this is gonna be what gets us to finally find our own place.” Ian sighed and scanned his transit card to enter the platform. They both dropped the topic, not wanting to think about all the uncertainty, all of the worries about money and bills and groceries if this thing progressed longer than a month.

It wasn't until later while they were unpacking their quarantine stockpile in their bedroom that Ian remembered what Mickey had been so sneaky about... And found an answer in the form of two bottles of flavored lubes.

When Ian looked up to question Mickey, brows raised in question, Mickey smiled wickedly and allowed Ian to pounce on him with a searing kiss.


	2. Day 1--Morning

They'd gone at it most of the afternoon yesterday, but Ian couldn't keep his hands to himself -- It was like their second honeymoon... Only two months after the wedding.

Well... They'd had to try out Mickey's purchase!

Green apple. That was the consensus, that green apple was the best of the two flavors Mickey had grabbed. Ian was half tempted to order an assortment from Amazon before the provider went to essentials only. But talked himself out of it... for the time being.

Flavored lube -- A fuckin revelation!

Mickey was still fast asleep--on his stomach as though _begging_ for Ian's attentions, to pick up where they'd left off.

Ian bit his lip and lightly squeezed his girth with his palm to relieve the pressure of his morning wood. Slowly... Oh so slowly, Ian shifted so he hovered over Mickey's stretched-out form, carefully shifting Mickey's hand from Ian's chest to his pillow as he slid beneath the blanket. Once his face was level with the alluring curve of his back, Ian stopped and ran a gentle caress against Mickey's waist, drifting to that very tantalizing curve. Above him, Mickey grunted and shifted his right leg to bend at the knee which only gave Ian more access to the true target of his attentions. Ian smirked.

They were always on the same page like this. It was small things like this that sold Ian on the whole notion of soulmates, and that Mickey was so clearly his. It baffled him most days how it took this long for Ian to finally buckle down and fuckin act like he knew Mickey was his soulmate, but Mickey seemed to be of the opinion that all that mattered was that Ian knew it now... and was determined to fuckin act like it.

Mickey pressed his hips into the mattress from Ian's gentle caresses and when his hips relaxed, he was in the _perfect_ position for Ian. He actually licked his fuckin lips as he lowered himself to Mickey's entrance and licked a strong line over him. Above him, Mickey stirred with a groan which Ian reciprocated as the faint residual green apple flavor greeted his eager tongue. He could _hear_ Mickey's smile as he pressed even deeper, tongue seeking full entry and being absolutely enchanted with the remaining sweet flavor from the night before. At first Mickey told him he figured it'd just be for some fun scents to liven things up... But they'd both quickly realized -- you don't buy flavored lube without tasting it. And though this was much more faint than the night before, the fact that there was flavor left at _all... Mmmmmm...._

Mickey shifted his hips again in response to Ian's moans, first pulling away and then shoving back with a little too much gusto. Ian laughed and shoved forward even harder which punched a deep moan from Mickey. Ian drew back and reached for the now half empty lube, but Mickey flipped to his side to stop him. 

"No, wait! Save that for a rainy day!" Mickey insisted earnestly. Ian frowned at the bottle but ultimately agreed to save their newest toy.

" _Save all of this for a rainy day!_ " Carl's voice boomed from the other side of their door, a fist colliding with the sliding panels. Ian and Mickey glared at each other but Mickey just grabbed their regular lube and tossed it behind him, which Ian easily caught.

In a matter of seconds, Mickey's hole was properly lubed along with Ian's shaft and Ian slowly entered his husband with an uncensored groan. 

They always tried to be respectful of their housemates. Ian grew up knowing the aggravation of insanely, inconsiderately loud sex noises erupting from the next room over... That being said, there was only so much that could be done. Being inside his husband was like being in heaven, and the feeling, like they ceased to be two bodies and became one, was such a powerful one that the grunts and moans were sometimes too powerful to contain.

"Not again, guys! You already went all day yesterday and the rest of us have to quarantine here too!" Debbie's voice voice erupted from outside accompanied with hand whacks against their door.

"We're being as quiet as we can be, assholes!" Ian hollered with another powerful thrust. Mickey gasped and then laughed at this ridiculous situation--still fucking as his husband argued about them fucking.

" _Then be celibate like the rest of us while the house is full!"_ She cried, stomping away in an audible huff. Mickey and Ian shared wide eyed glances. Did she...?

"Are you _seriously_ telling a _married couple_ to be celibate?!" Ian called. But no answer returned. Ian turned his attention back to Mickey, hips paused so they were completely connected but he couldn't even fuckin enjoy it right now because of the annoyance thrumming through his limbs. "They're tryin to tell a _married couple_ to be celibate."

"Just jealous fucks," Mickey grumbled, adjusting his bedhead. He bit his lip, staring at Ian's pillow for a moment... then his eyes narrowed into an irritable glare and he released a powerful huff as he pulled off Ian -- eliciting a confused and annoyed curse from Ian. Before the redhead could voice his complaint, though, Mickey tossed Ian onto the bed, flat on his back, and mounted him.

This had to be the sexiest experience of their life together so far -- First with the flavored rimming and then with Mickey taking fucking _charge._ Ian let his groan rip free from his chest as Mickey did. 

They thought they were loud before? _Oh,_ Ian and Mickey were ready to _show_ them loud.

Mostly Mickey used Ian like his own personal toy but when Ian did join into the effort -- even taking over completely -- they both crescendoed to new volumes and pitches. For added measure, Mickey threw in some dirty talk, which made Ian laugh mixed in with his usual panting moans. As he came, Mickey _screamed_ Ian's name and Ian finally allowed his own natural sound tear free from his chest--a near growl that Mickey bit his lip at... he liked it.

Mickey collapsed on Ian's chest with a broad grin.

"Last time they bitch about our volume, I'll tell you that." Mickey boasted victoriously.


	3. Day 1--Noon

They stayed in their private bubble for another hour or so, gazing at each other and talking. Ian played with the dusting of chest hair Mickey recently decided to start sporting.

"I can shave it if you don't like it," Mickey offered in what could almost be called a whisper. Ian's brows shot up as he looked at him in surprise.

"No, no! I like your chest just.. Because it's your chest," he laughed self-consciously at how lame that probably sounded. Mickey blushed and nodded.

"It starts buggin me when it gets too long..." He murmured.

"Then shave it when it bugs you," Ian replied. "It surprised me that you liked mine," Ian admitted after a brief silence. Mickey smirked and huffed a little laugh.

"Why?" Ian shrugged and smiled shyly.

"Just... never pegged you for a bear-lover," Ian joked. Mickey's responding laughter was loud, long, and absolutely enchanting to Ian. Ian's grin at his husband's laugh was damn near maniacal. Ian _so_ loved his husband's laugh and always felt a surge of pride when he was able to get it out of him.

"I think you're a good hundred pounds and bush short of being a ' _bear_ ' " Mickey pointed out through gut-clenching laughter. Ian clutched at his chest in mock pain.

"I could be a bear with some weight lifting!" Ian argued.

"Pffft! You and what peach fuzz?" Mickey insisted. Ian looked down at his light dusting of chest hair and looked at Mickey in faux disbelief. Mickey's brows furrowed after a long moment and looked like he was about to apologize when Ian broke into a broad grin and Mickey play-punched him.

"Jackass! Makin me think I hurt your faerie feelings or some shit!" Ian laughed and returned the punch. They wrestled for a moment, laughing and grunting until the mood suddenly shifted and their chemistry --as always -- fuckin _imploded._ Ian kissed Mickey hard, slotting his lips against Mickey's and lightly pressing his hips against Mickey's. Mickey hummed but tossed Ian over and straddled his hips--ass in just the right position to sink down on Ian if he had the mind to. Ian's palms naturally sought the backs of Mickey's thighs and just held him. They gazed warmly at each other as they caught their breath, both consumed by thoughts of each other. 

Mickey leaned down, laying his chest to Ian's, and pressed a kiss to Ian's lips which shifted as the redhead smiled.

"The only hair on you that I give a shit about, other than what's on your head..." Mickey murmured sultrily against Ian's mouth... His left hand trailed from that very hair at the crown of Ian's head down his chest, running over his sternum, his abs, his navel... Down, down to the thick thatch of hair curling right beneath Mickey's hips. He bit his lip and ran his fingers through the soft hair. "Is this," he finished. Ian gasped as Mickey tugged gently on it and grinned.

"So... 'firecrotch' really is a term of endearment for you, huh?" Ian whispered. Mickey smirked, but said nothing, lowering himself to lay between Ian's legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if describing the blowjob would be too much so I left it at a fade-to-black. If y'all want more then I can edit it to add more. Just lemme know <3


	4. Day 1--Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have the house to themselves. What does a newly wed couple do when left to their own devices?  
> Netflix and chill of course!

The Gallaghers had peaced out a while ago -- likely during their spiteful round that morning. Where they'd gone during quarantine neither of them could gets, nor did they care so long as they walked through a cloud of Lysol when they returned. They newly-weds had the house to themselves, probably for most of the day.

They started by heating a pizza to split, talking more during the twelve minute cook time.

"If nothin else, this quarantine shit is tellin me we need our own place, and quick." Mickey announced as he fiddled with a random pile of papers stacked in the corner of the counter. Ian, leaning against the opposite counter by the refrigerator, crossed his arms and frowned. Mickey's brows furrowed. "What... you wanna stick around this place?" Mickey asked genuinely confused. Ian's eyes set downcast as he seemed to think his feelings through. Mickey had figured Ian would be on board. Frankly, it had been on Mickey's mind since they returned from their honeymoon--the next natural step was naturally to find their own place, especially since Ian wanted kids. They were _married_ now, Ian wanted a family of their own... Did he really plan on just staying here for forever? Even Lip had his own place now and he and Tami weren't even married yet!

"Ian?" Mickey prompted. Ian huffed a sad sigh.

"I--" Ian shook his head, clearly wrestling. He clapped his hands over his face and stretched back, dragging his hands down his face in frustration. "I know you're right..." Ian allowed. Mickey sat up straighter on his stool, preparing to hear his husband out. "But... I dunno, I never really saw myself livin anywhere else, you know?" Ian murmured.

"You lived at Dad's with me for almost a year... The fuck do you call that?" Mickey demanded, trying not to sound aggressive but finding it hard not to considering how stupid the excuse was. Ian flinched.

"I meant ever since, uh.... " His eyes wouldn't meet Mickey's as he worked through the last half of his sentence. Mickey bit his tongue, the muscles in his back going taut. He knew _exactly_ what he meant.

"Ever since you abandoned me," Mickey filled in. Ian winced.

"Jesus, Mick, you gotta phrase it like that?" Ian whined, eyes still incapable of looking at Mickey.

"Yeah, I do." Mickey replied irritably. Even though they'd talked all that shit out in prison, Mickey still struggled with the abandonment thing--especially considering Ian's indecisiveness over their marriage. It was a subconscious fear that he was starting to worry would never go away.

"Then yeah, since then." Mickey huffed at the surge of memories popping up and he resumed playing with the random stack of stuff in the corner. Ian bit his lip and worried it as he thought through his next words.

"I... Look, Mick..." Mickey turned his attention to his husband, eyes hard. "I'm sorry. I know I've already apologized a million times but... I'm sorry again, okay? I just... This place is home, okay? Franny was born here, Carl and Liam were born here, you and I have lived here together, Fiona's still here in places. It's a lot to leave behind, you know? We've fought hard to keep this place for so many years that it feels weird, maybe even _wrong_ to just leave it behind."

"You know what also went down here? Abuse. Neglect. Family turning its back on family. Monica's rollercoaster. The first time you broke up with me. Me actin stupid tryna make you jealous. Sammi gettin you arrested and then me gettin arrested over Sammi. A lot of _shit_ has happened here." Ian's eyes liquified as memories seemed to pass through his mind. "There may be a lot of good but there's also a lot of shit. And even without all that... We're _married_ and you want a family. I ain't raisin my kids surrounded by six other loud-ass people and especially _Frank!_ " Ian sighed.

"I already said I know you're right, Mick. You didn't have to go throwin that shit out at me. I know what shit this house has in it too." Mickey looked down at his tattooed fingers, a little sting in his chest from needlessly bringing up so many painful memories for Ian. "I was just tryna show you that... even though _you_ may not have good memories of this house, I do. And it's those good memories that are gonna be hard to leave, plus Liam and Carl still need guidance, someone to help 'em out." Mickey grimaced.

"I didn't say this house don't have good memories too..." He murmured shyly. Ian smirked.

"Oh? You do have good memories here?" Mickey shifted in his seat.

"Well, yeah." He rolled his eyes. "We slept in the same bed for the first time here..." They both remembered how Mickey had climbed into Ian's bed in the middle of the night on his third night avoiding Svetlana. They both remembered how Ian had draped the covers over them so no one could see Ian's arm wrapped protectively around Mickey's waist... how Mickey was either too tired or too pleased by that arm to move it. "Had our first shower together here..." They'd had the house to themselves and Ian had just recently shared that he wanted to know what it would be like to kiss in the rain. So Mickey had taken Ian by the hand, pulled him to the bathroom, and turned on the shower for them to see. "I opened up about a LOT of shit to you here... And you with me. We reunited here, this was my hideaway for a while... Yeah, I got good memories here too. But that don't mean we spend the rest of our life together here." Ian soaked everything Mickey said like a sponge, listening so intently it was like Mickey was giving him the answer to the meaning of life.

"It's not like we're goin anywhere now..." Ian murmured after a pregnant pause. "Y'know, because of the self-quarantine shit... We can use part of this time to talk it over, okay? See what we can afford... what we want and what we can realistically get... All that shit." Ian suddenly remembered how the 'wedding' he'd expected had turned into a WEDDING and knew to expect that with house-hunting too. Mickey was probably ready to find their forever home, the home where they'd grow old together and all that shit. And if that was the case, Ian could expect that Mickey would pull out all the stops to get exactly what they wanted. "But just... gimme a day or two to process that we might be taking this huge step soon--Sooner than I'd thought?" Mickey heard the plea in Ian's voice and was reminded of the courthouse when Ian was begging for Mickey to talk out the marriage shit. He winced internally at the memory of how poorly he'd handled it all--poorly of course being an understatement. Mickey sighed and met Ian's worried eyes.

"Okay... Okay, yeah, you figure out your shit and we'll take time to find somethin good... No rush." Ian smiled shyly at Mickey's gentle voice. He didn't hear it much--Mostly only when they were being tender in bed, which also didn't happen often. Mickey returned the smile and turned back to the pile of shit. Moments into their newfound comfortable silence, Mickey withdrew... A credit card? Ian's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Whose is that?" Ian asked. Mickey flipped the card over and smirked.

"Lip's," he laughed.

"The fuck did Lip leave his credit card layin around for?" Ian wondered aloud.

"No idea, _but_ I know what we can do with it..." 

"Stock up on more flavored lube from Amazon?" Ian guessed. Mickey actually considered that a moment.

"I like where your head is at, Gallagher... But not what I was thinkin."

"And what were you thinkin Gallagher?" Ian laughed.

Twenty minutes later they were picking up where they'd left off from _Orange is the New Black._ They'd been watching it off and on since it first came out. Whenever they got a new card and could start a free trial they binged what was available and then moved on to random shit, sprouting roots in the couch until the seven days were up and they had to cancel. They'd already moved on through Mickey's cash card from work and Ian's first credit card so Lip's was their newest opportunity--it wasn't like they were going to keep the subscription, and even if they did they'd pay him back for it. But in the Gallagher house, "I'd rather ask forgiveness than permission" was a family motto. 

Despite what most would think, Mickey was a very vocal TV viewer. He'd throw shit, yell, banter with the characters... And while it'd always annoyed the piss out of Mandy and any of the Gallaghers, Ian fuckin loved it. He rarely joined in, just listened for Mickey's commentary and was always prepared to rewind so Mickey could hear whatever he missed during a tirade. The finale of _Orange_ required _a lot_ of pausing.

"I mean, they fuckin broke them up after they'd _gotten married_ and then they just... have her show up in Ohio?? What the fuck kinda bullshit storytelling is _that?!"_ Mickey vented as the credits rolled.

"I dunno, maybe they wanted some drama and didn't know how to fix it so they just--"

"That's a bullshit excuse and you know it, Ian." Mickey fumed. Ian laughed and drew Mickey's smaller form to rest in-between his legs so he could wrap his arms around his husband as he continued his rant.

"But Taystee's found her purpose," Ian pointed out as Mickey continued trashing the entirety of the finale. "And Gloria's with her kids."

"Yeah, yeah. But she--" and so resumed another rant. 

An hour of discussion flew by and Ian had the most sudden of urges to kiss his husband. He twisted Mickey's torso so he faced him and waited until Mickey caught his drift and stopped talking before lowering his lips down to his, craning his neck over Mickey's shoulder to reach. Mickey dropped that shoulder and turned the rest of the way around, straddling Ian's lap. They both smiled into the kiss, so wrapped up in each other and practically glowing with happiness that they didn't notice the Gallaghers walking in the door.

"Jesus! Still?!" Debbie complained. Mickey sat straight up on Ian's lap and turned to look at them.

"Relax, it's a fuckin kiss," Mickey grouched.

"How are you two not sick of each other yet? You've been in each other's faces since before the wedding," Carl asked lowly. Ian and Mickey looked at each other and shrugged. Was happiness really such a bad or sick thing? They were fuckin happy. Why were the Gallaghers so offended by it?

"How'd you guys get Netflix? Broke down to pay the $10 a month?" Debbie called from the kitchen.

"Uh... no, actually," Ian called, not letting Mickey move from his lap, holding his thighs in the palms of his hands. Carl arched a brow. "Lip left a card here and it still works so we're using the free trial and we'll cancel it at the end."

"Lip's not gonna be happy about that," Debbie tsked from the kitchen.

"Lip shouldn't be leavin his shit around if he don't want people to use it." Mickey called back. That'd been the rule in the Milkovich house and from what Ian had always told him, and from what Mickey had observed, that was the way it had always been in the Gallagher house too. And using a credit card for a fuckin free trial was _not_ exactly the worst thing that had been borrowed in this house, Mickey was certain.

"You guys want dinner?" Debbie called.

"No!" They replied together. Mickey was still poised above Ian just staring at his husband lovingly, Ian tracing small circles in Mickey's thighs with the tips of his fingers. The position got Ian thinking... And as he got thinking... his body responded.

"Goddamn, Gallagher! Again?" Mickey whispered--well, apparently it was a stage whisper.

"NO!" Carl, Debbie, and Liam all cried together. Ian smirked and thrust his hips up against Mickey's ass and they both rushed a break-neck pace to their room where they once again made their point--they would not be silenced.


	5. Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Love is Blind fans :)

Over the next few days, the Gallaghers pretty much kept their asses parked in front of the TV enjoying the Netflix free trial. They had to enforce a sharing system, though, so there were no fights over what was being watched for who had control over the TV. During Debbie's turns she made them watch some dumbass hetero dating show, putting a new meaning to the phrase "blind dating."

"Ten _days_?!" Mickey had barked in disbelief after the premise of the show was explained. "That's bullshit, you can't fall in love in ten days!" 

"I fell for you on day one," Ian argued from his position above him. Mickey, as usual, was tucked between Ian's legs, reclined back against his chest and torso with Ian leaning against the arm of the couch. Mickey turned to face him, his brows furrowed in a way that told Ian he thought he was full of shit.

"We grew up together," Mickey snipped.

"No, I mean when we -" he looked around at the room full of Gallaghers and chose his words carefully, clearly shifting from his original wording. "When I went to get the gun back." Mickey actually felt his cheeks flush a little and shrugged. 

"Still don't count- It ain't the same thing as-" 

"It's sweet!" Debbie snapped, "Shut up and listen!" 

"Yeah! It's sweet!" Franny yelped from her mother's lap.

Mickey had to clench his lips closed with his teeth to keep himself from bursting into hysterical laughter. When he looked up to his husband, he found a similar expression on his face too.

When it was Debbie's turn once again, Mickey returned to the only way he could make her selection bearable- mocking it. Carl and Ian's consistent laughter made it hard to stop, even with Debbie's frequent glares. Midway through the present episode, Franny ran into the room with a puzzle and declared "I wanna build a ocean!" Mickey looked at the picture of a dolphin swimming through ocean water with coral and other fish surrounding it and decided the description "build an ocean" actually fit.

"Use the coffee table," Debbie instructed, not tearing her eyes away from the screen as one couple started arguing over something stupid.

"Help me, Mommy!" Franny asked.

"Maybe during Ian or Mickey's turns. Come here and watch with me!" Debbie opened her arm to her daughter, inviting her to her lap but the toddler shook her head and set to work clearing off the coffee table. Mickey grimaced at Debbie but said nothing. It was a 250 piece puzzle, not an easy feat for a four year old, even a smart one. Franny was just about to dump the whole box on the table when Mickey spoke up. 

"Wait, squirt. You gotta look for the edges and do those first." Franny looked up at her uncle in wonder. Mickey huffed and broke from his comfortable position against Ian, and grumbled "What the Hell, that Jessica chick is pissing me off anyway," under his breath as he sat up. When Mickey found an example of said piece he held it out to show her, "Like this one," and that set her on a mission, searching through all 249 other pieces. When he looked back up at the screen, one of the ladies was fuckin crying again.

"No one is gonna go through with the marriage part," Mickey blurted out.

" _Thank you!"_ Carl exclaimed.

"Shut up, you're just a cynic!" Debbie shot back to Mickey, "And you're alone," she practically growled to her brother. Mickey swallowed a laugh.

"I'm just sayin, _she's_ obsessed with age, _she_ can't give more of a shit about him if she tried, _she_ has basically said her fiancee ain't even her type like... fifteen times and- Well, actually her head is shoved so far up that guy's ass... They'll get married. Doubt it'll last but they'll tie the knot."

"Not unless _he_ says no at the end," Ian chimed in.

"Oh yeah, true!"

"Oh, hush, all of you!" Debbie fumed.

"Hush! All of you!" Franny repeated with a giggle suddenly appearing at her mom's side as she said it. Mickey sent a sardonic look to his husband and brother-in-law before returning to the puzzle. Franny bounced back to her place at the coffee table directly beside Mickey's knee and set back to work picking out the edge pieces, tossing them onto the coffee table as she found them. Even as he guided and advised her, he never lost the opportunity to make fun of Debbie's show.

"Jesus Christ, _nothing_ is that fuckin funny," Mickey grumbled as one of the girls roared in laughter at nothing at all.

"Please, like you two don't carry on for an hour with the stupid shit you say," Carl teased. Mickey and Ian exchanged innocent looks.

"Who? Us?" Mickey asked.

"We never joke," Ian agreed.

"That's _not true,_ Uncle Ian!" Franny shouted accusingly, flabbergasted that she caught her uncles in a lie. Ian's face didn't shift from it's serious yet faux-confused position.

"What? When have Uncle Mickey and I ever joked?" He asked. Mickey bit his lower lip to keep from laughing.

"Jus' yesterday!" She insisted.

" _Nooooo,"_ Ian teased.

"Yeah!" Franny squealed back. She must have been talking about how Ian and Mickey wrestled around the living room during one of Carl's movie selections. They spent half of the match with Ian's arm keeping Mickey in a choke-hold and the other half with Mickey acting like he was going to hog-tie Ian. To say they were laughing boisterously the entire time would be an understatement. They couldn't even tell who started it or why a joke led to a wrestling match, but that was a day in the life for Ian and Mickey Gallagher- Anything could lead to a play fight. Boys will be boys and all that.

When Franny was ready to focus on the puzzle Mickey helped her but the child's attention span was that of a squirrel's and so she ran about the living room doing various things as the adults resumed their rotation with the remote. Two rotations later Franny was back at her puzzle station making decent progress with the coral reef in the bottom corner. One chance look back up at the TV had Mickey snorting.

"What _now?"_ Debbie groaned.

"Picnicking in separate rooms..." Mickey replied simply as though that was enough explanation.

" _They're having trouble communicating so he's recreating--"_

"All _I'm_ saying is, if you gotta have a wall between the two of you to listen... Maybe your ass just can't communicate for shit and-"

"It's _thoughtful!"_

"It's ridiculous!"

Couch cushion.... meet face.


	6. Day 6--Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Netflix gone Mickey is discovering some new apps to fiddle with during quarantine. One discovery makes him mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a CC I saw and took as a prompt. This is half of the prompt.

They cancelled Netflix a day early just to be on the safe side. Everyone had pretty much grown tired of TV anyway. Mickey was lounging in his and Ian’s bed in nothing but boxers, blinds still drawn, when Ian entered their room.

“Jesus, Mick. You gonna come and join the living any time soon?” Mickey grimaced at Ian, showing how much the thought appealed to him.

“Your siblings are driving me nuts,” Mickey muttered, turning back to his phone.

“Better than being bored on your phone all day,” Ian pointed out. Mickey shrugged but didn’t budge away from his phone.

“Just realized I never really looked at apps to put on this shit. There’s a fuck-ton.” Mickey replied easily.

“You never shopped for apps?” Ian asked in disbelief. Mickey’s mouth twisted wryly as he shook his head no. “What’d you get so far?” He asked, clambering over Mickey’s form to lay beside him and look at the screen.

“A coupla games I’ve heard people go nuts over — Candy Crush and Fruit Ninja…”

“Eh, Fruit Ninja gets boring after a while, you should get Temple Run, that’s a classic.” Ian suggested. Mickey typed in the title and clicked “install.”

“Tetris, of course,” Mickey murmured absently, continuing the list.

“Of  _ course!”  _ Ian laughed remembering how Mickey would steal Ian’s iPod just to play Tetris while they listened to music or Ian told stories. Mickey huffed a bored sigh and switched the screen back to the app store main page.

“I dunno, I was mostly just lookin at random shit.”

“Well, if you like lookin at random shit you should get Pinterest,” Ian offered.

“That even a word?” Mickey asked, turning to face his husband so he could see the question was serious. Ian’s brows furrowed until Mickey could no longer contain his grin and he burst into light laughter. Ian shook his head and laughed along.

“Here,” Ian held out his freckled hand for Mickey’s phone, which he passed easily. Mickey watched as he typed in the title of the app, “Pinterest,” and pulled it up.

“The fuck d’you even do with it?” Mickey asked. “Looks like some sort of social media bullshit.” He’d never done the FaceBook thing, the Twitter thing… He’d had a MySpace back in the day but he could never be super active on it because he could only ever log on with a school computer and the teachers and librarians were assholes about what sites he could use. Though Mandy had gotten enamored with social media Mickey’d never seen the point. If he wanted to talk to someone, he’d text them. If he wanted to find someone he hadn’t spoken to in a long time (though he’d never experienced that situation before,) he imagined he’d look them up in a phonebook or something.

“Eh,” Ian grimaced in thought. “You could call it social media, I guess, but it’s not like you’re friending people and talking to people or anything.” 

“Then… what do you do?” Mickey asked slowly.

“There’s all kinds of shit on here. Art, random pictures, recipes, crafts… You save stuff you like so you can look back at it later. Some people use it to inspire wedding ideas and —”

“ _ Wedding stuff?”  _ Mickey interrupted. Ian turned to face him, brows raised a little in surprise.

“Um… yeah, some people —”

“You  _ knew  _ that people use this thing to plan a wedding and you didn’t  _ tell me?”  _ Mickey actually seemed offended by this news.

“I— I’m sorry, Mick, I just didn’t think about it.” Ian stuttered, confused as to the direction this conversation was taking. Mickey frowned and narrowed his eyes.

“Gimme that,” Mickey hissed, snatching his phone back from Ian with a huff.

“Wait… Are you  _ actually  _ mad that I didn’t tell you about Pinterest while you were planning the wedding?”

“ _ Do you know how fuckin expensive those fuckin bridal magazines were?”  _ Mickey cried in irritation, sitting up and lifting himself from their bed. Ian pinched his lips together between his teeth to keep from laughing. Mickey was  _ actually  _ pissed that Ian had neglected to tell him about this.

“I’m… Sorry?” Ian murmured, allowing his smile to spread wide while Mickey’s back was turned as he pulled on a pair of sweats and tee shirt.

“No,  _ no.  _ You watched me flipping through magazines for  _ days  _ and you’re tellin me I coulda done all that shit  _ on my phone?” _

“It all came together!” Ian defended. Mickey huffed a little snort of irritation and this time Ian couldn’t contain his laughter. Mickey whirled around, shocked at his husband’s reaction.

“You’re  _ laughing  _ at me?” 

“No, no, I would never…” Ian giggled, trying hard (and failing harder) to school his expression. Mickey turned back around to finish dressing, setting his phone down on their dresser. Ian stood from their bed and wrapped his arms around his affronted husband’s torso.

“I  _ am  _ sorry,” Ian murmured against the shell of Mickey’s ear.

“Quit that, you’re not gonna sex your way out of this,” Mickey grumped. Ian grinned against his neck.

“I didn’t think I could… I  _ am  _ sorry,” he repeated. Mickey sagged a little in his hold. “You did a great fuckin job planning that wedding,” Ian murmured before placing a tender kiss against his neck.

“Yeah?”

“In spite of the arson, I wouldn’t change it for anything. I’m glad you wanted to have a real wedding. And everything you did for it turned out fuckin great.” Mickey’s ears shifted which told Ian that he got his husband to smile, which made him smile. Mickey pat Ian’s arm with his hand, accepting the compliments in a content silence. No matter how comfortable Mickey grew to be in regards to his sexuality, it seemed there would always be a part of him that would struggle with accepting praise.

“Well let’s see what’s on here. Maybe there’s somethin we could do to entertain the rugrat,” Mickey suggest in a gruff tone. There was also something about Mickey that would always be contradictory. He’d say something sweet but with some sort of bite to it. Ian never understood it but fuck if he didn’t love it.


	7. Day 8 -- Afternoon and Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: I saw your thing about Ian and Mickey with the biscuits, but imagine this: Ian and Mickey making biscuits with the kids and hopelessly trying to prevent them making dicks and curse words out of them, because they want to at least seem like responsible adults. Of course they fail miserably and at the end of the day everyone is covered in dough and icing and all riled up from the amount of sugar they consumed. But none of them could have imagined having any more fun than spending the day like this

Pinterest was giving Mickey all sorts of ideas about how to keep Franny (and himself) occupied. Debbie apparently hadn’t received (or didn’t care) about the stay inside memo and so consistently visited Lip now that Netflix was gone and was happy to leave Franny with her uncles since she usually got bored over at Lip’s and Tami’s house.

The funny thing about the Pinterest ideas is they usually were the most obvious things that they just… didn’t think of for some weird reason. They’d made slime out of glue, shaving cream, and baking soda (a really odd texture that Mickey decided halfway through playing with that he actually didn’t care for the stuff), constructed and decorated lightsabers out of paper towel rolls, and hunted for rocks to paint.

Now it was Ian’s turn to figure out something to do. And his choice was baking. 

“Why not cookies?” Ian suggested, tossing through a cookbook he discovered while straightening up the kitchen. Mickey looked up from the little monster he was painting on the big rock he and Franny were working on with an arched brow.

“ _ Cookies _ ?” He asked.

“Cookies!” Franny shouted, sitting up straight in her seat. A smear of blue paint streaked across her cheek and green on her forehead and the back of her wrist. How the Hell kids got so fuckin messy Mickey would never understand.

“Yeah! Why not?” Ian asked.

“We probably don’t have all the stuff to make ‘em, first of all?” Mickey suggested. Ian glowered at his husband.

“Now would I get the child’s hopes up for cookies if we didn’t have the stuff to make it?” Mickey held his hands up in surrender.

“Franny, you want cookies?” Ian asked sweetly.

“YEAH!” She screamed and both men laughed at the reaction. Ian hunted down a step stool for Franny while Mickey worked with the child to put their paints away and find a place to set their masterpiece out in the back yard.

When they returned, Ian was searching for a rolling pin but had to get on the phone to ask Debbie if she’d seen it.

“Since Aunt Ginger?” Ian asked incredulously. “Debs, that was ten years ago! Surely we’ve used it since then… And she wasn’t our Aunt Ginger!” Mickey quirked a brow, knowing there had to be a story there… Ian listened to his little sister on the phone and rustled through more drawers in the counter.

“Ugh, nevermind I found it…. Along with a fucking meat cleaver…?” Mickey heard Debbie’s voice echoing from the phone but couldn’t make out what she was saying. “I — I don’t wanna know.” Ian interrupted. Mickey laughed and closed the drawer before Franny could get curious.

“Seriously, Debs?” Ian asked, annoyed. Mickey’s brows raised again at the tone. He sounded irritated. “Yeah, sure. What’s family for, I guess.” He listened for another brief moment. “Yeah, I know I’m the best and you’d better not forget it,” Ian snapped playfully before tapping the phonecall off.

“Whassup?” Mickey asked, pulling the giant measuring cup from the middle shelf by the fridge. Ian rolled his eyes.

“Debs is staying with Lip and Tami. Apparently they’re having a ball playing some game and it’ll be late so she asked if we could take over bedtime duty with Franny.”

“The fuck?” Mickey blurted without thinking, though one look at Franny revealed she wasn’t following the conversation, resuming her poking at the slime from earlier. Ian shrugged.

“It’ll be easy,” he defended.

“Well, sure, but it ain’t our job,” Mickey argued. Ian nodded.

“Look at it as practice,” Ian suggested but Mickey grimaced, one brow raised as though saying ‘You know damn well we don’t need practice and even if we did this wouldn’t exactly be that.’ Ian shrugged again and called to Franny. “Let’s get your hands clean before we get started!” Franny grinned and ran around the counter to hop up on the stool to wash her hands at the sink. “And you too, mister,” Ian added turning to Mickey.

“You too, Mithter!” She repeated to Mickey. Mickey glared at Franny but she only giggled… And damn him he smiled back with a slight chuckle of amusement.

Ian took his wedding rings off and placed them on the window sill and Mickey followed suit. Two teeny towers of dark metal standing next to each other in the mid-afternoon light. Ian made a mental note to take a picture of them before putting them back on.

“Alright!” Ian boomed, turning to look at the recipe and picking up the keyring of mis-matched measuring cups.

Ten minutes later they had a countertop full of dough, Ian deciding to double the recipe for double the fun, and they were each hard at work cutting out shapes by hand. Ian looked over and grunted in disapproval.

“Mickey!” Ian chided. “You can’t make…  _ that  _ shape,” he whispered horrified. Mickey looked down at the dick cookie he just made.

“And why the fuck not? It’s mine.”

“We’re making cookies with a  _ child _ , can you at least  _ try  _ to be age appropriate?” Ian huffed. Mickey glared at Ian and turned to Franny who was hard at work in between them poking the dough with a toothpick for Ian to cut later.

“Hey, kid.” Mickey boomed to get her attention. She turned to face him. “What is this?” Mickey asked, pointing to his cookie. Ian punched Mickey’s shoulder, eyes wide in alarm. 

“Are you fuckin —”

“A unicorn!” Franny declared. Ian stopped short.

“That’s right, kid. That’s exactly right,” Mickey replied encouragingly. He turned to his husband with a triumphant smile.

“I’m eatin this ‘unicorn’ and it’s gonna be the best of the bunch.” Mickey boasted. Ian arched a brow. 

“You know what would be really fun?” Ian asked faux absently. 

“What’s that?” Mickey returned in a similar fake casual tone.

“Alphabet!” Ian suggested. Mickey arched a brow.

“That has gotta be the lamest —”

“ABCDEFG…” Franny started to sing. Mickey bit his bottom lip to keep himself from snorting as Ian traced out the first letter… F.

“Franny, can you write out an A in the dough?” Ian asked as he traced out the curve of a U.

“Yeah!” She yelled excitedly, writing out the A with her toothpick but not really making it cookie-friendly. Oh well, it was going to taste the same whether you could see what letter it was meant to be or not.

“How about a B?” Ian prompted as he made the other curve of the C.

“Alright, Gallagher, I see you,” Mickey murmured.

As Ian worked, he pulled the completed letters from the dough and laid them on the cookie sheet in order. Mickey, meanwhile, stacked his to keep them a secret. Franny got through F before she started running out of room so Ian cut out the letters — blobs of dough that they were — and stuck them on the first cookie sheet. Mickey grabbed a cookie sheet of his own and started arranging his letters. He turned the tray away each time Ian tried to take a glance and after about three minutes of trying and failing to get a glimpse, Ian gave up and let Franny ball up the excess dough to roll back out.

Watching her press and roll the pin over the dough was one of the more amusing things the men have watched as she audibly grunted with the effort of pushing down on the ends as hard as she could — so hard in fact that at one point she scooted the footstool backwards instead of the rolling pin forwards. Mickey threw an arm behind her to steady her balance and they all laughed, Mickey a little nervously as he tried to hide the rush of anxiety from the almost fall.

During the ten minutes the cookies baked Ian straightened up the kitchen and the excitable child seemed to forget all about the cookies as she beat her uncle Mickey’s ass (literally) with the paper towel roll lightsaber. Childish giggles and Mickey’s play-fight grunts echoed in the kitchen complete with the hollow  _ pongs  _ and  _ pops  _ of the cardboard tubes making contact with each other, the top of Franny’s head, or the side of Mickey’s thigh. 

Once Ian was done cleaning the kitchen, he hoisted himself to sit on the counter and watch the display. It certainly wasn’t the most rambunctious activity to have taken place in the Gallagher kitchen, but it was quite possibly the cutest. 

While Mickey had his back turned, Ian snapped some pictures, planning to print them out eventually for the scrapbook Debbie suddenly decided she wanted to make — a quarantine activity. 

At the timer, Ian pulled both trays of cookies out of the oven and nearly dropped them when he saw Mickey’s tray.

“MICKEY!” Ian barked in laughter. Mickey turned to face him, a surprised look on his face until he saw what had Ian in stitches.

“What can I say?”

On Mickey’s tray was the distinct silhouette of two cookie figures fucking in addition to the dick Ian’d already caught him making. Sweetly, however, there was the outline of Ian’s name. It blended together a little in the oven, but the I-A-N was still clear enough for him to see. He looked at Mickey a little bashfully and slid that cookie onto the tray Ian and Franny shared, placing the other tray up high on the other side of the counter so Franny wouldn’t see — “Unicorn” comprehension be damned.

He suddenly felt much better about his “Fuck off” cookies… And yet he moved them to the other tray as well… And pressed his “Mickey” cookie to rest beside Mickey’s “Ian” cookie. Mickey furrowed his brows suspiciously at Ian’s sentimental face and dropped his cardboard lightsaber to walk over to see what had Ian Gallagher looking so peachy. When he took in the tray, Mickey actually flushed.

“Did you know I—?”

“Nope.” Mickey couldn’t deny the little flip his heart did. God, they were both such fuckin saps for pulling this shit — and not even meaning too! The Mickey cookie was a little more difficult to recognize because the I pretty much completely disappeared in between the M and C but from there it was easy enough to see what it was meant to read. Like magnets, they were drawn to each other in that moment, heat flaring between them — not a sexual heat, but a comfortable heat, a comforting heat. The flame of familiarity and the pleasant glow that comes with validation that this truly was the person you were supposed to be with. Ian bit his lip to contain a little sigh and lowered his lips to Mickey’s, kissing him sweetly. Mickey smiled into it, pressing his neck forward to meet him. 

They had intended to keep it chaste, but apparently not quick enough for the toddler who shouted “IT’S COOKIE TIME UNCLE IAN!” as she swung at Mickey’s thighs with her lightsaber as though it were a baseball bat. One of swings landed a hard blow right to his ass to which he sucked back a big laugh as he reached back to prevent a repeat of the assault. He wrestled with trying to grab hold of the craft as he struggled to school his expression, wanting to play mad when he turned back around. But he just couldn’t stop laughing as she kept jabbing him in the side.

“You’re gonna break it,” Mickey warned with a chuckle.

“NO, YOU’RE gonna break it! Leggo!”

“I’m not holding it! You keep hittin my palm with the edge!” Mickey argued back. Ian rolled his eyes and pulled out the bag of sugar to start making the icing.

In the end, Franny made two kitties, a snowman (out of the O, C, and U from Ian’s “Fuck Off” cookies) despite it being fuckin springtime, and decorated the first three of the alphabet before she got so hyped up on icing that she could no longer sit still at the table. At the counter, high up so she couldn’t see, Mickey  _ insisted  _ on icing his “kama sutra” cookie as he called it, and of course gave the dick cookie a glazed tip and line down it. Ian shook his head and neatly iced the name cookies, nothing fancy. 

“You know, if Debbie sees that and knows you made that around her she’s gonna be pissed,” Ian murmured.

“Good thing it’s goin in my stomach, then, huh?” Mickey asked around a mouthfull of cookie.

“Wait! I wanna see the final product!” Ian laughed.

“Thought you were offended by it?” Mickey laughed, brow arched. Ian shrugged.

“Impressed, really. Can’t believe you did that without any cookie cutters.”

“And without you seein?”

“Yeah, and that,” Ian allowed. Mickey hummed his laughter as Ian took in the handywork.

“Is this supposed to be a hint of what you want tonight?” Ian asked suggestively. Mickey shrugged, but Ian could tell, by the lightest tinge of pink on his cheeks that it was a yes.

Hyped up on sugar, Franny was not an easy child to wrangle for bedtime. She splashed around in the bathtub like Ian’d never seen her and insisted on giving Mickey a bubble beard as he tried to wash her hair, Ian having left to get her pajamas from the bedroom.

“Jesus, I figured dinner would soak up  _ some  _ of that sugar!” Mickey shouted, spitting out suds that slid into his mouth. “Hold STILL!” He demanded as she kept adding more bubbles to the collection as they disappeared.

Franny just giggled and finally sat in the water.

“THANK you!” He cried exasperatedly. She giggled and picked up water in her cupped hands to drop over the crown of her head.

“Yeah, yeah, you rinse.” Mickey huffed, grabbing a towel to dry his torso and arms that were completely soaked. Ian returned with her pajamas and sucked in his lips to avoid laughing, knowing he’d get a punch to the gut if he laughed. Mickey glared.

“YOU’RE on dressing duty!” Mickey declared, leaving the bathroom to put on a fresh shirt.

When the time came, she actually did lay down pretty easily. Sure, she insisted three stories, but she lay there listening intently as Ian read and at least pretended to snuggle down for sleep by the time he put his foot down for her going to bed. For all he knew she got out of bed and started playing with her toys as soon as he closed the door. And frankly he didn’t give a shit, so long as she was quiet that was what mattered.

He joined Mickey, sacked out on the couch, to an old action movie of some sort — one of Mickey’s favorites, apparently.

“Ian?” Mickey murmured out of nowhere.

“Mmm?” Ian hummed, turning to face Mickey.

“We left our rings on the window sill,” he reminded. 

“Oh shit,” Ian grumbled. He looked at Mickey as though asking ‘and what would you like me to do about it?’ to which Mickey raised a brow— a clear request… maybe more of a demand… that Ian go get them. Ian hobbled into the kitchen, fuckin exhausted from entertaining his niece all day, and gathered the rings into his palm. He slid his on as he re-entered the living room and plopped onto the couch cushion directly beside Mickey who was curled into the corner. Mickey stared at him like he was crazy for plopping down the way he did but didn’t resist when Ian picked up his hand. On the fourth finger, Ian slid first the silver engagement band and then the black wedding band just like he had when they got married. He kissed the top of Mickey’s hand sweetly and smiled at Mickey warmly. Mickey smiled back shyly.

“Ian?” Mickey murmured again.

“Mmm?” Ian repeated.

“One at a time.” He stated simply. Ian quirked a brow in question. “Kids. You said you wanted one or two. If we get more than one, we’ve gotta get them one at a time. This shit is exhausting enough with one.” Ian laughed in a huff and nodded.

“Okay, one at a time,” he agreed.

“And… Um….”

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked, concern furrowing his brow. Was Mickey going to tell him nevermind on kids altogether? It wasn’t like he sounded particularly excited for them to begin with.

“This is my right hand…”


	8. Day 14

Before this whole mess with the pandemic had started, Mickey'd started collecting clothing for his wardrobe. His closet had been helplessly raided by the time he returned home so Mickey only had the clothes on his back when he'd returned to the States and a few pairs of jeans and old basic shirts. Though his job was security, he still got the Old Army employee discount. It wasn't a very generous discount, but Mickey took full advantage, raiding the clearance racks once a week or so right after markdowns. In the end he got away with some pretty killer deals.

He'd never really given a shit about his appearance beyond taking care of his hair and wearing clothes that _fit._ "Style" was reserved for serious occasions and otherwise Mickey was the type to re-wear the same black or tank top or short sleeve shirt until there were more holes than shirt. Coming out made him realize that this was majorly his way because he wanted to avoid attention from girls. It didn't necessarily stop girls from noticing his face but it still did the trick for helping him avoid attention most of the time. With Ian, though, Mickey actually wanted to look his best. That was when he started caring about how his ass and thighs looked in his denim, if the wash looked right with the tee-shirt he threw on, hell he even started wearing nicer shirts with jeans because he saw that was what those "heartthrob" types were wearing and he figured... Since Ian was one of those with predictable tastes that Ian'd appreciate a good button-down with jeans ensemble. And he'd been damn right.

Still, Mickey was about ease, comfort. He'd throw on a good vest if he was feeling fancy unless they were going somewhere particular. But now Mickey actually had a fresh start (as annoying as it was to replace a whole wardrobe). He found himself drawn to more than the typical black, grey, and odd dark color. Yellows, reds, blues that wouldn't be considered "neutral"... he found himself interested in colors he'd never thought to try before with patterns he'd never thought would look decent on him. 

He found a faded shirt, for example; it started a dark turquoise and faded through blue into white. It was Mickey's new favorite shirt, he actually had to think long and hard before he eventually ripped the sleeves off. When Mickey first brought it home Ian looked at it with an impressed look on his face.

"Oooh, an ombre! I never thought I'd see Mickey Milkovich outside solids and plaid, though that Hawaiian number was memorable."

"Shut up," Mickey grimaced, snatching the shirt back. Ian's brows furrowed in confusion.

"That wasn't an insult, Mick..." Mickey turned to look at his husband.

"Oh?"

"Nah. I think it'd look great, especially with a navy or white shirt under?" Ian suggested. Mickey dug in Ian's drawer and pulled out a plain dark blue shirt and quickly tried both shirts on. Since Ian's shirt was supposed to be snug on _him_ it fit Mickey perfectly and the "ombre" shirt fit perfectly over it. Ian smiled. "Looks good, Mick." Mickey felt himself blush, damn him. He loved getting compliments from Ian but still found himself getting shy as fuck whenever he gave them. It was embarrassing.

With the next experiment, Mickey found this really interesting tee-shirt with weird, random print on the torso and black sleeves. He actually thought he might keep the sleeves on this one, liking the contrast between the black and the yellows, oranges, and blues in the pattern. Debbie described it as "Aztec" when Mickey wore it the next day after bringing it home.

"The fuck does that mean?" Mickey asked, spreading butter on a slice of toast.

"It's an aesthetic," Debbie explained.

"The Mayans drew spears and triangles on their loincloths?" Mickey asked a little irritably. He didn't give a shit about all this fashion jargon. It was _a shirt_ for Christ's sake, not a child. Debbie rolled her eyes and picked up Franny's empty cereal bowl to take to the sink.

"Well, it looks good, Mickey," she complimented. Mickey furrowed his brow a little at the compliment but ultimately thanked her.

With the whole family on lockdown recently, they had more time to pay attention to each other. Debbie couldn't go two days without someone passing looks at her hair if she let it get oily and suddenly it was a topic of concern (disgust) if someone wore their boxers more than one day in a row. Things that had never been observed or bothered with before were suddenly hyper-noticeable. This included Mickey's clothes. Everyone acted _blown away_ if Mickey wore something colorful rather than his usual black or grey or darker toned colors. The novelty had worn off for Ian weeks ago so that he didn't say anything or so much as raise a brow anymore. But for some reason it was... _that_ shirt that got even Ian excited.

It wasn't even _that_ bright! But, paired with a pair of dark wash jeans, Mickey stepped down from their bedroom clad in a yellow shirt with sleeves that reached just above the elbow and had a cool type of collar that he'd never seen before. It wasn't a polo, wasn't a crew neck, it had a very slight rounded collar that barely rose even a half inch above the neckline and cut down to the upper-center of his chest with a medium-sized button connecting the two sides of fabric. It was unique and that was what drew Mickey's eye to it even though the color wasn't his usual choice. So he probably shouldn't have been so surprised when even Ian lit up at the sight of him. Mickey furrowed his eyebrows in irritation anyway.

"What?" he demanded, taking in the various looks of surprise and approval from his new family.

"Cool shirt, Mickey!" Liam cheered from the dining room table. 

"Thanks," Mickey mumbled, reaching for the coffee pot.

"You... You look like my li'l ray of sunshine, Mick!" Ian grinned. Mickey slammed the coffee pot down on the counter and flashed a look to his husband.

"Excuse me?" he gaped.

"You..." Ian's face fell. "It just.... looks _happy,_ " he rephrased.

"Your little, what?" Mickey repeated. Ian rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Ray of sunshine," Debbie finished, either missing or ignoring that Ian was trying to back down from the offensive phrase. Mickey grimaced and unbuttoned the shirt, tearing it up and over his head.

"Fuck _that,"_ Mickey declared, tossing it over to Liam who caught it just before coming into contact with his plate.

"This is gonna be a _dress_ on me!" Liam cried in objection.

"You'll grow into it," Mickey argued, returning to pouring his coffee.

"Is that... Ian's name?" Debbie asked. Mickey slammed his eyes shut and breathed through his nose, waiting for the obvious next words. "You know Gallagher has an h in it..."


	9. Mother's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian suddenly remembers Monica... And is struck by the lack of care he and his siblings pay to their late mother... It gets emotional.

Lip and Sandy had woken at the crack of dawn to cook their respective partners breakfast. Ian had woken shortly after they got started and had to ask what the fuck they were cooking so early for. After all, the only times Ian himself cooked pancakes at 6AM was when he was manic or his pills needed to be adjusted. 

“It’s Mother’s Day, idiot!” Sandy remarked at his question.

“Oh, fuck… Right,” Ian mumbled. He’d completely forgotten. Was it because of lockdown and so not seeing ads everywhere made him forget or was it the subconscious attempt to avoid the sting currently constricting his chest? Second Mother’s Day without Monica…

Ian didn’t understand why it affected him, really. Their mother had rarely been around to claim the title for this day so it wasn’t like there was a lost tradition to mourn…. But still, he felt Monica’s absence in this moment as strongly as he’d felt Mickey’s when they had been separated — but this one was permanent.

“You okay?” Lip asked, wiping down an old, unused serving tray. Ian flashed his attention to his brother as though surprised to hear his voice.

“Oh, uh… Yeah. Just didn’t realize it was that day already,” he replied simply.

“You sure, man? You look… Spooked.” He insisted. 

“Just tired still,” Ian lied. “Gonna go back to bed, leave you two to it…”

He took the stairs two at a time, rushing to his room where Mickey lay still sleeping. Ian’s chest felt hollow. Normally he was okay with Monica being gone… But then there were these random days where her absence was more poignant… He couldn’t explain it because he could hardly make sense of it himself.

He crawled back in bed, but this time so he was laying in front of Mickey. It was a tight squeeze, laying right on the edge. Mickey’s brows furrowed and Ian felt a slight sting of guilt for waking him… But at the same time didn’t feel guilty because he _needed_ his husband right now. Mickey shifted backwards, hand reaching behind him. When his hands found only emptiness, Mickey’s eyes fluttered open and he startled.

“The fuck, Ian?” Mickey groaned, sleep clouding his throat and making his voice crack. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, pressing closer to Mickey. The older man pushed further back to give Ian more room and draped an arm over his husband’s waist.

“Whassup?” He asked groggily. Ian looked down at Mickey’s chest and traced the tattoo of his name with his fingers.

“Maybe I should get your name on me..” Ian mumbled. Mickey huffed a sigh and opened his eyes. Ian could feel his gaze resting on his forehead as he wrestled with himself in silence.

“Sandy say somethin to you again?” Mickey asked. Ian shook his head no. “Debbie yell at you about the towels again?” Ian spurted a noise that was half laugh, half contempt. Mickey smirked at the response and ran a soothing hand across Ian’s lower back, trying to encourage him to open up.

“It’s Mother’s Day… And I realized how long it’s been since I even thought about her and… I dunno, I know she was a shit mom in all the areas that mattered, but she also did her best where it counted and… No one around here gives her a second thought… and apparently that includes myself —”

“You feel like shit because you’ve moved on?” Mickey clarified. Ian furrowed his brows.

“That’s now what I said…” Ian snarked. Mickey shrugged.

“In so many words… It’s kinda exactly what you said. You’re not actively mourning her, so you’re moving on and you feel like shit because you haven’t been caught up thinking about her… You feel like shit for moving on. You’ve moved on and that’s okay.” Ian sighed with a slight groan at the end. “What’s wrong with moving on?”

“Don’t you ever think of your mom?” Ian asked at the same time. Mickey froze and Ian returned his gaze to Mickey’s, stilling himself, worried that he’d crossed a line of some sort.

“Not really,” Mickey answered honestly.

“And… you don’t feel weird about that?” Ian asked curiously, no judgement in his tone, only genuine curiosity.

“No,” Mickey replied instantly. Ian’s mouth quirked to the side as he absorbed that answer, seeming unsure of what to do with it. “She died years ago, didn’t exactly do much while she was here… We weren’t exactly close, there wasn’t much to mourn in the first place.”

“Didn’t she make you that Ukrainian honey dessert on your birthday and for Christmas and you said you two used to bond over Guns n Roses and —”

“The important shit, Ian. Yeah whenever Dad was gone she was cool I guess but I still had to do a bunch of shit I didn’t wanna do to take care of the family and she looked the other way every time Terry did his shit —” Mickey huffed out a harsh breath, closed his eyes, and touched his forehead to Ian’s to gather himself. “I get… I get it, you know? But getting how hard it was for her to be married to him and knowing that she probably wanted to help but didn’t know how doesn’t change the facts. And it’s my _right_ to just… let her be dead and not worry about it.” Ian’s stomach and heart tore as Mickey described his complex feelings for his mom. They were similar to Ian’s own thoughts about Monica but… Ian just couldn’t hold anything against her like Mickey did. For him, ‘getting it’ _did_ complicate the facts.

Ian was rarely at a loss for words with Mickey. He could always find some way to express what he was thinking, or feel free to babble on until he found the words, and Mickey would just let him go and go until he figured it out. But… Ian’s mind was blank.

“Just like it’s your right to still miss her if that’s where you’re at,” Mickey murmured gently. Ian moved his head back on the pillow, Mickey’s hand cradling the back of his head for added support, and looked into his partner’s eyes, searching.

“I think I want to see her…” Ian breathed. Mickey nodded and breathed an “okay.”

  
  


They decided not to ask any of the other Gallaghers to tag along because they were all so excited with their celebratory breakfast and treating the moms in the family to a relaxing morning — they didn’t want to put a damper on it by reminding anyone about their own deceased mother. Debbie had taken to making masks in the past few days and Ian and Mickey grabbed two fresh ones from the top of the pile. They didn’t pull the masks on until they climbed the stairs to the L, walking incomplete silence all the way to the platform.

“Just think,” Mickey blurted from behind his mask as they sat on the L, careful not to touch anything. Ian looked up to Mickey and couldn’t help but grin at the silly looking homemade mask, knowing he looked equally silly. “If you were working you’d have to wear this shit all the time,” Mickey finished. Ian huffed a sardonic laugh.

“Yeah, what a shame it’d be to work, Mick,” Ian grumbled. Mickey’s ears rose and Ian knew he was grinning broadly — the kind of smile that only popped up when they were alone. “Though there is something to be said about how fuckin…” He adjusted the makeshift strap around his ear, lowering the side of the mask that was starting to creep up to his eye. “Uncomfortable this shit is,” he finished with a little grunt. Mickey laughed silently beside him.

The L was surprisingly empty and Ian had a suspicion that it was more due to the holiday than the lockdown. Mickey’s hand crept onto the top of Ian’s thigh, his fingers squeezing gently. The gesture said “Remember that I’m right here.” Ian laid a freckled hand on top of his and stroked his thumb along the top of the hand. Mickey flipped his hand over and ran tender fingertips along the bands on Ian’s finger. Mickey sometimes got lost in those rings, as though he still wasn’t convinced that Ian had actually gone through with their wedding, as though he still had to actively remind himself that they were actually legally married. Mickey took their marriage even more seriously than Ian would have ever predicted and it was that alone that made Ian feel so stupid for being scared all those months ago. 

Beneath his mask, Ian couldn’t help but smile warmly as Mickey twined their fingers together. They sat in comfortable silence waiting for their stop.

Though it might seem strange to some how often they spent their time together in silence, their silences were never awkward or uncomfortable or even boring. Sometimes it just felt right to be in each other’s presence and just exist together. They also gabbed endlessly sometimes, making each other laugh or banter for hours. But there was something about how they handled and viewed silence that was also meaningful — silence is underrated.

The walk to the cemetery was relatively quick and as they approached the entry to the site, Mickey’s brows suddenly furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked, taking Mickey’s hand in his. Mickey shook his head and shrugged noncommittally. 

“This is where my mom’s buried too,” he replied as evenly as he could.

“No shit?” Ian remarked in surprise. Mickey just nodded. “Wow… you wanna go see her too?” Ian asked as casually as possible. Mickey remained silent for a minute, so long that Ian wondered if Mickey was choosing to ignore the question.

“Sure,” he finally mumbled in answer. Ian nodded.

“Okay, do you know where she is here?” Mickey’s eyes narrowed as they roamed the cemetery, apparently looking for landmarks.

“Vaguely?” He replied quietly. Ian nodded and they continued walking in the direction of Monica’s site.

“When I got home from the border and I found out she’d died I stayed up and thought to myself how strange it was that you were in my life for so long and yet she’d never met you. I could never decide if it was a good thing or not…” Ian confided. Mickey listened intently but didn’t respond. “And now… I dunno, I kind of wish you two had met…” Mickey nudged his nose with a knuckle, a gesture that gave away Mickey’s discomfort at the topic. But Ian wasn’t sure if that necessarily meant that Mickey would rather they not have this discussion or if he was just… not sure of what to say. Or both.

“Seeing whose kid I am I can’t imagine she’d like me much,” Mickey mumbled after a long silence. Ian flashed him a surprised look.

“What, you’d care if she didn’t?” Mickey unlatched the mask from over his face and revealed a complicated face. He looked like he was equally calling Ian dumb because the answer should be obvious and yet also looked like he himself wasn’t sure. Ian followed his lead and removed his mask too.

“I mean… You always cared about her a lot…. I never got it but that much was obvious enough.” Mickey replied slowly, as though taking care with his words. Ian shrugged though Mickey’s answer wasn’t really answer at all to his question. They walked in silence until they found the cracked tombstone. The groundskeeper had not removed the top corner of the stone, keeping it propped up against the base — Ian was grateful. It was oddly fitting.

“I don’t really know what she’d have felt about you… She always supported us, so I don’t think Terry would’ve made her feel one way or another about you…”

“But…?” Mickey prompted, sensing that word and calling it out since Ian was apparently nervous to voice it. Ian sighed.

“But she had this idea that you were trying to change me…” Mickey stopped and sharply turned Ian to face him, his expression an unreadable blend of amazement, anger, and hurt.

“Gee, now where did I hear that before?” Ian nodded.

“I know…”

“ _She’s_ the reason you dumped me that day? _She’s_ the reason you left me alone in prison?” Ian shrugged and winced.

“I can’t blame her for it, Mick. I made that decision on my own, and you know I regret it. She might’ve said some things that got under my skin but… Ultimately _I_ decided that you were probably going to leave me one day or I was going to resent you or us or…” Ian sighed. “You know all that, I don’t need to repeat it…” Mickey’s brows rose as though saying ‘like fuck you don’t.’

“Mick, we already hashed all that out, you need to rehash it?”

“Well the Monica twist is a new one,” Mickey argued.

“Like I said, I can’t blame her for the decisions I made. Did she influence me? Yes, but does it really make it any better knowing that she did?” Mickey bit his lip and thought about it for a brief moment.

“I guess not…” Ian clasped his hand around the back of Mickey’s head, running his fingers across the overgrown strands of hair at the base of his neck.

“Had I made different decisions and you were around when she rolled back into town for that last time, I think she would’ve loved you. _That’s_ the part that used to keep me up at night.” Mickey averted his gaze, a gesture that said ‘Yeah fucking right.’ “Hey,” Ian murmured, pulling at Mickey’s head just slightly to encourage him to return his gaze. “She thought the things she was saying and doing were good for me. She thought she was doing her best… And I can’t resent her for that.” Mickey did return his look at that, but quickly averted his gaze once again, looking down at their shoes. They were standing so close that their feet were staggered, intertwined like their fingers when they held hands.

“What makes you think she would’ve liked me?” Ian grinned his boyish smile and chuckled.

“Because you make me happy, Mick. Like I said, she always supported us because she could always tell how miserable I was without you… And by her logic, as miserable as I was without you I was probably as happy with you.” Mickey’s brows furrowed.

“That’s some way to think about it…” Mickey grumbled in confusion. Ian laughed as Mickey huffed out a quiet laugh of his own.

“Yeah… Well, Monica had different ways of seeing the world in general.” Mickey returned his eyes to Ian’s and raised his own arm to cup the back of his husband’s neck, guiding him so their lips brushed in a chaste, sweet kiss. Ian sighed, leaving his eyes closed as he tipped his forehead to rest against Mickey’s as he breathed. Mickey waited patiently, allowing him to take his time before “facing” his mother so to speak.

When Ian did turn around, he ran his hand down Mickey’s arm, latching onto his husband’s hand and Mickey went easily with him as Ian stepped forward to examine the gravestone.

“Our last conversation was a fight…” Ian said to no one in particular. Mickey stayed silent. “She’d tried to apologize for always leaving me,” he winced and corrected himself, “us.” Mickey tightened his fingers’ grip inside Ian’s hand, squeezing to remind him that he was there. “How do you just… Forgive yourself for the last memory you ever have being… so fucking hostile?” Mickey wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or genuine, so he stayed silent. The question also hit a weird place in Mickey's own chest and sank into his mind and he wondered the answer to that question himself. Ian turned to face Mickey though, as though waiting for an answer. Mickey’s brows shot up in recognition and he stepped closer to him.

“I uh… I dunno, man. Just gotta make peace with it somehow. It’s not like you knew that’d be the last time you’d see her and…” Mickey sighed, truly out of his comfort zone with this kind of talk. Sure, he and Ian had talked about a lot of deep topics, delved into some dark moments of their pasts, but… That’d been venting — hearing, listening, and sharing. But this time Ian really wanted an answer and Mickey didn’t have one.

“Look,” Mickey breathed, gathering Ian’s attention. “I don’t even remember for sure what my last moment with my mom was. I’d been running shit for Dad all summer and was spending time with you, and basically doing everything I could to stay away from the fuckin house. So… I _think_ the last thing I said to her was to get off my back a day or two before I went back into Juvie. And if I’d known that’d be our last conversation I don’t even know what I’d do different. You can’t beat yourself up for this, Ian.” Ian ran a hand through his hair and returned his gaze to his mom’s grave.

Hearing it and internalizing it were two completely different things… He knew Mickey was right, that he didn’t need to beat himself up over how he left his relationship with Monica… but he still did. His eyes traced the lopsided, damaged stone and then the letters of the epitaph. Slowly, Ian sank to the soft ground. It hadn’t rained in a couple of days so he wasn’t worried about getting especially dirty. Beside him, Mickey sank to his knees and then to his backside, sitting cross-legged like Ian. He didn’t mean to hunker down for a long visit, but suddenly that’s what he felt he needed.

They talked about Monica… About the things she always wanted to do, the promises she’d made to Ian, the way Mickey would have fit into those plans. And though Mickey was pretty obviously not a fan of Monica, especially after the day’s revelations, he still smiled at Ian’s memories and proposals. The prospect of the three of them shooting pool, dancing at a Gallagher pop-up party, maybe even meeting up for that trip to the beach in the South somewhere that she’d talked about… It was nice. And Mickey didn’t make any faces to suggest that he was against these ideas, which just propelled Ian forward.

“I’m telling you… Once you two got to talking I’m sure you would have loved each other.” At this point, Ian was laying in the grass, his head tucked in the cross of Mickey’s legs. Mickey ran his fingers through Ian’s hair just like they used to in their prison cell when they were on lockdown. Ian would lay like that in Mickey’s bunk and Mickey would just play with Ian’s hair and grin quietly at Ian’s stories or ideas.

“Maybe,” Mickey allowed. Ian’s eyes turned sad again and he went quiet. Mickey just waited for Ian to voice something: a desire to leave, a desire to stay, a new sad thought that had occurred to him, “You okay?” Mickey asked when Ian still hadn’t said anything after a long pause. Ian nodded, wincing and laughing when the back of his head scraped painfully against the bottom of Mickey’s boot. He laughed and sat up, turning around to face his husband.

“You want to see your mom now?” Ian offered. Suddenly Mickey’s stomach filled with lead and he lost his breath.

“Oh, um….” He was at a loss of what to say. What _did_ he want?

“Did you ever go to her site after that first time?” Ian asked. Mickey shook his head no. “Maybe… You should?” Mickey couldn’t meet Ian’s eyes. “What?” Ian pressed. Mickey’s chest hollowed and he couldn’t take a full breath as he considered how it would feel to see her bare minimum rock in the ground. 

Oksana Milkovich really had been pushed to the side by the Milkovich family, in more ways than one. She had a teeny plot crowded by strangers with a granite stone with her name and dates on it… No embellishments, no kind words, no indication that she was a person with anyone in her life to give a shit beyond putting her body in the ground and marking its place. Though this was how she had been treated for the past eight years, it still suddenly struck Mickey how wrong that was. He was actually embarrassed by the lack of care he had for her, though he knew his words from this morning still held true: he can’t force himself to feel something he doesn’t and he’d moved on years ago. But… There was something nagging at his conscience now that he was here. 

Before Mickey knew it, they’d located her plot, Mickey guided by vague memory of Mandy walking with him to the site relatively soon after he got out of Juvie. It was by no means the first thing he did when he got out; hell, he’d just given a sarcastic “Oh yeah?” when Mandy’d told him over the phone what had happened. And that attitude was what haunted him about himself now. 

Standing in front of her stone with Ian’s arm draped over Mickey’s shoulders he was suddenly overwhelmed by the grief that swallowed him. His mother… in the fucking ground with him having barely paid her any mind in the past near-decade since her passing. All of the memories that he usually associated with Oksana (when she’d ducked from Terry’s punch, allowing his fist to connect with Mickey’s own face; when she’d ran from the room the first time Terry pistol-whipped him; the many times she’d tried to comfort Mickey and apologized profusely for her cowardice as she cleaned Mickey’s wounds inflicted by their abuser…) suddenly didn’t matter. What about the way she used to try teaching Mickey Ukrainian; the time she brought home probably half a dozen games she's picked up from the Goodwill that she had played with he and his siblings; the way she always taught him to respect women, to not become the monster that his father is; the traditional Ukrainian honey desserts that Ian had mentioned, sure, but also the pancakes she made every Monday when Terry was away, a little treat to pick up the children’s spirits before school… 

“Damn you, Ian,” Mickey groaned before sinking to the ground before his mother’s headstone and covering his face with his hands as tears brewed in his eyes. Ian’s knees creaked a little with how quickly he crouched beside him.

“Mickey?”

“Fuck…” Mickey breathed as more memories invaded his mind… The hundreds of hugs that he’d dodged because Terry’d drilled into him that touch like that was stupid and would make him weak… The way he’d snorted at her when she tried to encourage him to take school seriously while Terry was gone because she thought he could… The way even though he never returned the sentiment, she always said “I love you, Mikhailo” before he went to school and before he went to sleep every night. So many regrets raced through him so fast that he couldn’t even figure out how to sort through them all.

“Mick?” The way Ian called his name it sounded like that wasn’t the first time he said it. Mickey rubbed the heels of his palms against his moist eyes before looking into Ian’s gaze. “What’s wrong?” Mickey sighed.

“Just… Just realized that I treated her like shit. And…. fuckin damn you, your complicated feelings got me thinkin about my own.” Ian’s brows shifted to reflect a look of empathy, but also confusion.

“I thought you said you’d moved on? That she was a shit mom and there wasn’t much to mourn?” Mickey nodded in agreement.

“I know… And I still think that. But… I don’t know… She tried. And... Now you've got me wonderin if I've been too hard on her, writing her out like I have..." Ian's eyes softened to a depth of sympathy that Mickey had never before seen in his partner.

"It's definitely worth thinkin about..." Ian replied softly. Mickey huffed and shook his head irritably.

"Why? What fuckin good is it gonna do me to suddenly get all upset that she's gone? To give her the benefit of the doubt _now_? The way I grew up was still fucked, what fuckin difference does it make that she tried when Terry wasn't around when she didn't do dick when he was?" Ian's demeanor visibly sank.

"I don't think giving her some credit is the same as excusing her for where she fell short." Mickey's chest seized and Mickey had to look away as his bottom lip trembled a little. Ian rest his hand on Mickey's back and ran it in a large, tender circle across Mickey's shoulderblades, down his back, and back up to his shoulder.

"I'm fuckin mad at her, Ian," Mickey murmured, eyes fixed on her grave. Out of his periphery he could see Ian nod.

"I know. And you're allowed to be." Mickey shook his head in frustration, and even a little disgust. He wasn't sure where the disgust was directed... At himself for being angry after all of these years, at himself for how he treated her despite seeing first hand just how hard her life was, at her for not protecting him, at her for being so inconsistent with her acts of love, at Terry for causing this complicated as fuck relationship? There were so many places this feeling could be placed... but he couldn't land on one.

"I guess...." Ian said softly after a long silence, "We can work this shit out together."

"I've barely thought of her in years, I'm pretty sure I'll just go back to that --" But just the thought of shoving her away again made Mickey feel like utter shit. Just like when even though he felt Ian owed it to him to tank his parole but he felt like shit for asking... He knew he had every right to be pissed at her and to disregard her.... but he also knew that she deserved better than that. Ian just watched Mickey patiently, letting Mickey sort through his thoughts. "I don't want to think of all that shit, man," Mickey mumbled. He sounded like a petulant child and Mickey hated how whiny he sounded in his own ear.

"I know," Ian replied simply with no hint of judgement. "If and when you do, you just talk to me about it, okay?" Mickey turned his attention to his partner, searched his eyes and found so much love... God, Ian was practically glowing with it... and Mickey nodded in agreement.

After a day of sharing mom stories Ian and Mickey decided that Oksana Milkovich and Monica Gallagher would _not_ have gotten along... But probably would have loved the man their sons chose. That was what both haunted and comforted the men for the rest of the early afternoon. As early afternoon shifted to late afternoon and the men lounged in their bed, cradling a bottle of beer each, they came to the conclusion that no matter what they would make sure that their kids had much simpler relationships with their fathers. 

They didn't know when the next time would be that either of them would think of their moms, but they had an agreement: they were not going to run away from or hide from their confusing thoughts, they were confronting it so that hopefully eventually they would both truly move on.


End file.
